


A Sudden New Warmth

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-20
Updated: 2009-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the measure of Rodney's loneliness – an ache in his shoulder; a pain that runs from the divot of his jaw to the boundary of his collarbone; a twisting burn beneath each shoulder blade's wing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sudden New Warmth

This is the measure of Rodney's loneliness – an ache in his shoulder; a pain that runs from the divot of his jaw to the boundary of his collarbone; a twisting burn beneath each shoulder blade's wing. Too many hours in a chair, at a whiteboard; shoulders hunched against the coding in his fingers, arm raised to scribble fortunes in green and blue ink – the ache is the mark of his body as singular, isolated. His efforts to find relief have always fallen short.

And this is the measure of his still active wonder – that hands not his own press him down onto the bed, that he closes his eyes, face obscured by a pillow, sighing with gratitude as able fingers press into the hurt, ease the knots he's tugged and woven through a lifetime of self-sufficiency.

"John," he mumbles – affection and gratitude. There's a lingering protest in the timbre of his voice, a hint of pleading; _don't stop, don't stop._

"Yeah," John murmurs, and he sounds amused; sounds almost fond to Rodney's ears.

*****

This is the measure of Rodney's trust – that he may never understand how this came to be, find the answer to this puzzle, scratch its essence in ink. But fingers lax against John's bare hip, the pain in his shoulder dulled and diffused, he finds it doesn't matter. He's content to not know.

Instead he shifts, kisses John's throat, waits as John huffs and stretches drowsily against him. It's dark, and in the press of their aging bodies is an alchemy of satisfaction that he never thought to experience.

Then – "Thank you," John barely whispers.

And Rodney's breath catches, stutters before it comes again. "God," he says at last, pressing his forehead again John's shoulder; behind his ribs is a sudden, new warmth. "We're . . ."

"Hmmm," John agrees, and he rubs his nose into Rodney's thinning hair.


End file.
